The darkness still cloaked the cave; the only sound was the steady drip of water falling from the stone ceiling — cold and heavy, like the place itself was breathing.
The beam of the flashlight trembled across the rocky walls, flickering as though the cave exhaled along with them.
Mr. Takashi stood a few steps away, watching Ryota, who was crouched beside the body laid flat on the ground.
It was the corpse of a man in his mid-forties, his face pale — as if life had left him only moments ago. Dried blood traced black lines down his skin.
Takashi stepped closer, his voice low and wary:
— "Careful, Ryota. Don't touch him too much. We don't know if the area's safe."
But Ryota didn't answer.
He stared at the body like he was having a silent conversation with it. Then, slowly, he reached out and tilted the dead man's head to the side, whispering softly:
— "The wound… it's not random. Sharp, precise weapon. Aimed blow, not self-defense."
He pulled a black glove from his pocket and slid it on carefully.
Gently, he moved the corpse's arm, measuring the angle of the joint. Then suddenly, he lifted his own arm in the same position — as though replaying the murder in real time.
He looked up, a strange smile curling his lips:
— "Exactly like that… he was trying to run. The killer was right behind him — one step faster."
Takashi frowned, his tone sharp:
— "Ryota! This is a crime scene, not a theater stage!"
Ryota chuckled lightly, standing up and whistling a soft tune.
— "Sometimes, sir, the corpse speaks louder than any witness. You just need someone who understands its language."
He took two steps forward and pointed the flashlight at the rocky wall behind the body — revealing a faintly carved symbol: a circle with the mark of a Lily of the Valley in its center.
Takashi froze, stepping back slowly.
— "I've seen that symbol before…"
Ryota turned to him quickly, eyes widening as if he had just found the missing thread of a puzzle.
— "Where? When?"
Takashi whispered:
— "It was on the reports of that case five years ago — the wealthy German man killed during his honeymoon. We never caught the killer."
Ryota's grin grew sharp.
He crossed his arms.
— "So… the ghost of the past decided to return."
Silence lingered for a moment before Ryota looked toward the dark cave entrance.
— "But this time… he won't vanish so easily."
The air was thick — heavy with the smell of iron and rust.
Ryota remained crouched beside the corpse, while Takashi stood behind him, watching through half-closed eyes, thinking: "Here we go again… the circus begins."
Suddenly, Ryota pulled out a small scale and a measuring tape.
— "Hmm… angle of fall: forty-seven degrees. Body tilted left by twelve centimeters. Blood dried eighty-three percent… conclusion—"
He raised his finger dramatically:
— "Time of death: last night, between 11:38 and 11:52 p.m. — give or take three minutes!"
Takashi stared at him for a few seconds before muttering:
— "Good God… are you a human or some lab-grown machine?"
Ryota didn't even hear him.
He crawled closer to the body, catlike, chasing a trail only he could see.
— "Look here — more mud on the left shoe than the right. Means uneven ground. Right side slightly elevated… maybe the slope near the eastern forest entrance."
Takashi sighed:
— "Of course. Everyone can read the forest terrain from the mud on a shoe."
Ryota ignored him.
He placed a hand lightly on the corpse's abdomen, smiled faintly:
— "Cold temperature. He wasn't indoors before death. So… not hiding in a cabin — he was outside. Right hand's tenser than the left… he was holding something… a knife? No… a pen."
Takashi raised a brow:
— "A pen?"
Ryota:
— "Yes. Cheap kind. Pocket notebook type. This man wasn't a tourist or a lunatic. He was an investigator — or a journalist. Look — ink stains on his pocket."
Takashi bent down, peering closer.
Then slowly looked back at Ryota:
— "How… on earth… do you notice these things?"
Ryota grinned like a victor:
— "When you're a genius, sir, even the dead speak to you in the language of evidence."
Takashi sighed, rubbing his face:
— "No, when you're insane, you think corpses are talking to you."
Ryota straightened, hands in his pockets, tone cool — like he was closing an episode:
— "Summary:
Victim — male, mid-forties, likely journalist or private investigator.
Came to the forest to dig into something — probably the old cases.
Attacked from behind with a narrow-bladed dagger.
One stab to the abdomen, left to bleed — deliberate, slow death."
Takashi stared for a moment, murmuring:
— "Sometimes I wish I could see what goes on inside your head… then I immediately regret the thought."
Ryota laughed lightly, pulling a small notebook from his coat to jot down notes at lightning speed.
— "If we keep this up, we'll find the killer before he finds his next victim."
Takashi sighed deeply, eyes scanning the cave:
— "God help us… chaos has returned."
The cave was swallowed in darkness except for Takashi's flashlight beam.
Ryota was still crouched, searching the ground like a shopper looking for a dropped coin in a supermarket.
Then suddenly —
— "Ahaaaaaaaaaaaa!" he shouted, making Takashi jump half a meter off the ground.
— "What the hell, Ryota?! Thought a snake bit you!"
Ryota pointed excitedly at something wedged under the rocks:
— "Look! There — a piece of… paper? No, not paper — a notebook!"
Takashi groaned, stepping closer cautiously:
— "Good. Don't touch it. We'll take it to the lab — there could be fingerprints—"
But before he could finish, Ryota had already darted forward like a kid spotting a new toy.
He slid on his knees like a baseball player and snatched up the notebook.
Even though he'd been wearing gloves, he'd just removed them — flipping through the pages barehanded, forgetting every rule of forensics.
— "Taaakashi-saaan! Got it!"
Takashi snapped, voice full of anger:
— "RYOTAAAA! You idiot! I said don't touch it! The prints! The evidence!"
Ryota raised the notebook high like a student showing off his first discovery.
— "But the fingerprints belong to the victim, right?!"
Takashi:
— "That's not the point! You ruin the crime scene every single time!"
Unbothered, Ryota brushed the dust off with one strong slap and began flipping through the pages, eyes gleaming.
— "Wow… nice handwriting… but… dark."
Takashi groaned, holding his head:
— "Yeah. Dark — just like your brain."
Ryota ignored him again.
His voice dropped lower as he read:
— "Day thirteen. No one noticed. I brought body number twenty-five. Tied him to the tree… he was crying before he died."
The air froze.
Every trace of humor vanished.
Takashi looked up slowly, his face hardening.
— "Wait… what did you just say?"
Ryota lifted his eyes, voice trembling slightly:
— "This isn't a reporter's notebook… it's a killer's journal."
Silence fell — broken only by the sound of dripping water.
Ryota flipped the pages faster.
— "Listen to this: I love watching them disappear between the trees. The forest swallows their screams, and I smile — as if hanging another painting in my private gallery…"
He raised his eyes to Takashi, a faint smile mixed with astonishment:
— "He talks about the bodies as if they were works of art…"
Takashi, in a heavy voice:
— "This man… he wasn't just a killer; he enjoyed… his filthy art."
Ryota closed his eyes and continued reading slowly:
— "He doesn't mention names… but he wrote about visitors to the forest, even about an unborn child…"
Takashi clenched his fist and muttered:
— "Eight… that matches the last incident exactly."
Then he suddenly shouted, a mix of anger and tension in his tone:
— "Put the notebook back in the bag immediately, Ryota, before you leave your fingerprints on every page!"
Ryota jumped back with cartoonish quickness:
— "Ah! Right, right, sorry! I'm just… sometimes curiosity kills me!"
Takashi, sarcastic:
— "I hope something actually kills you this time!"
Ryota laughed lightly as he placed the notebook in the plastic bag, then looked toward the cave with a sudden serious expression:
— "This place isn't normal, Takashi-san… the walls seem to hold the echo of their voices."
After a short silence, Takashi (hands on his hips, sighing):
— So this is the monster we've been chasing… the serial killer, the 'Forest Unknown.'
(he looks at the body)
— It's over for him… finally.
Ryota (mocking, looking at the corpse):
— Yes, he got his final performance… Audience: us. Stage: the forest. Curtain: death.
Takashi (trying to hide a hint of admiration):
— Stop the poetry, you eccentric.
(he breathes deeply)
— So the case is closed. We found the killer… it's over.
Ryota (shaking his head, denying):
— No, sir. Not yet.
Takashi (puzzled):
— What do you mean? The killer is right in front of us.
Ryota (staring at the body intently, then speaking slowly):
— The killer was killed.
— Someone ended his life… and perhaps he knew who it was.
— But that person now… might be laughing somewhere outside this forest.
Takashi (considering the situation with concern):
— Do you mean there's a new killer?
Ryota (smiling faintly as he closes the notebook):
— Killer… or a "crime-scene cleaner."
— Either way, the game has changed… that's all.
After a few moments of silence inside the cave, the wind howled outside as if the forest were whispering for them to leave.
Ryota took out his phone to check the time, while Mr. Takashi stood lost in thought.
Takashi:
— And now? What's the next step?
Ryota (looking at him with a sidelong smile):
— Call your department and tell them we found the killer we've been chasing for months…
— But, unfortunately, he committed suicide before we reached him.
Takashi (raising his eyebrows in surprise):
— Why don't we tell them the truth? That he was murdered?
Ryota (leaning slightly toward the body, voice calm but carrying a mysterious tone):
— Because we don't yet know who killed him, sir.
— If you say the killer was murdered, it will open a hundred new investigative doors and media pressure…
— And the real killer will get lost in the chaos.
Takashi (sighing as he adjusts his collar):
— So you want to make things simpler…
Ryota (in his usual cold tone):
— Exactly. Make it simple… until we find who tied the original knot.
(Short silence, then Takashi takes out his phone and calls the station)
Takashi:
— Detective Takashi here… we found the killer in a cave in Aokigahara forest.
— It appears he took his own life.
(He ends the call slowly, looking at Ryota, who smiles faintly without saying a word.)
Takashi:
— You know you're weird, right?
Ryota (looking at the corpse, sarcastic tone):
— The only weird one here is the person who thought the forest was a fitting place for art.
The camera pans out of the cave, night deepening; the wind roars across the cave mouth, and the scene is swallowed by the darkness of the forest.
•••
In Bella's office, the TV shows the news bulletin.
News anchor on TV:
""…investigations indicate the killer committed suicide after causing the deaths of 33 people. Police consider the case closed…"
Bella leans on her desk, chin in her hand; Amélie sips a strawberry smoothie lazily.
Bella:
— 33? Only? I thought the number would be a bit higher… (she winks) Maybe he wasn't savage enough!
Amélie:
— Or he just didn't think about the drama.
Bella laughs out loud, turning to Amélie.
Bella:
— Anyway, we have work. Remember the big event? There's only a week and a half left!
— If we don't finish everything before then, the office will turn into a chaotic wrestling ring among the staff…
Amélie (leaning back in her chair, yawning):
— What a threat… sounds like a cartoon nightmare, haha.
Bella (suddenly stands and claps):
— Idea! I'll visit the orphanage, and I want to bring Lucian with me!
Amélie (sets down her smoothie and laughs):
— Ah, I think they'll hate your visit more than your appearance… Fine, whatever, I'll agree — it sounds fun.
Bella sits, pulls out her phone, and starts searching for Lucian's number quickly, eyes lighting up with excitement.
Bella:
— Where's your number, Lucian… ah! Found it!
Amélie (leaning lazily):
— Oh, Bella… leave the boy alone; he's practically had his life ruined by you.
Bella (laughing, lifting her phone like a sword):
— Don't worry this time — Lucian will be the victim of my adventure in a far more amusing way.
Amélie:
— Oh, when does the torture drama start? Now? Tomorrow? The day after?
Bella (walking around the office, speaking loudly):
— Now! No time to waste. Everything needs setup, and every second without Lucian is wasted…
She heads for the door, feigning exaggerated excitement, while Amélie shakes her head and chuckles.
•••
Time Skip
Location – Private car on the outskirts of Paris, 15:12 PM
In the background, small houses and spring balcony gardens passed by like framed paintings. Lucien sat in the back seat of the car, staring absentmindedly out the window. Sunlight slipped through the glass and lit his cheek, revealing the clarity of his skin and the shine of his blonde hair — almost as if it reflected the light.
He was wearing a light blue T-shirt with a loose grey leather jacket over it, matching grey trousers, and grey "Velora" sneakers. On his wrist — a watch and two bracelets from the same brand. A light blue cap covered strands of his hair. His appearance was simple, comfortable — but with a bright modern touch, unintentionally so.
The driver, Mr. Simetel — a man in his fifties whom Bella had personally appointed — smiled at him through the rearview mirror.
— "Here we are. Maison Espoir."
Lucien turned slightly, smiling faintly.
— "So this is the place?"
The driver stopped calmly in front of an old but well-kept building, surrounded by tall trees and windows dressed in plain white curtains. On the iron plaque at the gate, Lucien read:
Maison Espoir (House of Hope)
Lucien, quietly:
— "House of Hope… sounds like the title of a black-and-white film. Mr. Simetel, you can go. I'll return with Miss Bella."
Mr. Simetel nodded.
Lucien stepped out of the car, adjusted his cap, and walked toward the gate with cautious steps — as if his feet were afraid of the unfamiliar ground. The driver watched him with a warm smile and whispered:
— "Don't worry, lad. Everything will be just fine."
Then he drove away.
The place felt more alive now — birds chirping, a soft breeze brushing through the trees. Behind the fences, a cluster of photographers and journalists stood, cameras aimed at the entrance courtyard, snapping pictures of Bella with the lady beside her.
Lucien noticed them — his eyes widening slightly, before a small smile formed.
— "So our arrival became a media event in itself…"
They noticed him and began taking photos. Lucien greeted them politely, and they returned the greeting with quick nods while continuing to shoot. He started walking toward Bella and the lady — his steps hesitant at first, then more assured as he drew closer.
Bella Leclaire stood beside an elegant woman in her fifties — Madame Laurette — whose gentle expression bore the pleasant fatigue of someone accustomed to working with children. Bella was perfectly composed: white shirt, grey vest beneath a tailored grey blazer, a black tie striped in blue and yellow, grey work trousers, black leather shoes, a metal watch, small earrings, three scattered rings — her black hair cascading elegantly over her shoulders and back, and her lips subtly glossed.
Lucien muttered in awe as he stared at her:
— "She works past midnight… yet still looks like a runway model in her early twenties."
Bella turned toward him, spotted him from afar, and gave him a sly little smile — no words, just a raised brow that said: You're one minute late.
Lucien hurried slightly toward her.
— "Madam Leclaire, I apologize for the delay — but it was only one minute, please forgive my behavior!"
Bella glanced at her watch, expression steady.
— "It's fine. What matters is you're here."
Then she gestured to the lady beside her.
— "This is the head of the orphanage, Madame Laurette. Madame, this is the trainee I promised you."
Laurette, kindly:
— "A pleasure. Such a pleasant-looking young man… you seem different from the ones who usually come."
Lucien, flustered:
— "Ah… thank you… I try not to look annoying or clumsy."
Bella jumped in before he could ramble further, waving dismissively:
— "Don't worry, Laurette. He's not dangerous. Just extremely anxious."
Laurette chuckled softly.
— "That kind is actually our favorite here."
She began walking toward the entrance, Lucien and Bella following behind confidently. Laurette took out a key from the pocket of her long elegant dress and inserted it into the lock. The gate opened slowly, its hinge giving a soft, aged creak.
Bella glanced over her shoulder at Lucien.
— "Prepare yourself. You're about to face tiny merciless creatures."
Lucien swallowed.
— "Is there health insurance for fashion department interns? Just… asking."
Bella chuckled lightly.
— "No."
CUT TO a long shot from behind — the three of them entering the orphanage, footsteps blending with the laughter and running of children inside, the vibrant colors of tiny clothes flooding the scene with life and energy.
---
Inside the orphanage
The main hallway was relatively quiet — polished wooden floors, creamy white walls decorated with children's drawings. A faint scent of recently cooked food hung in the air, with distant bursts of laughter echoing from a faraway room.
Lucien (whispering, eyeing the drawings):
"One of these deserves to be nominated for a horror exhibition."
Bella, low-voiced, without looking back:
"Say that to one of the kids and you'll wake up with a pillow over your face."
Lucien:
"I should probably write my will before this visit ends."
They continued following Laurette as she spoke calmly:
— "We currently have twenty-five children, ages ranging from four to fourteen. Most of them love drawing, some are gifted in music or dance… but what they need isn't just education or entertainment."
Laurette paused and turned to them.
— "They need someone who speaks to them as humans, not charity projects."
Bella nodded, pointing at Lucien.
— "And that's why he's here."
Laurette:
— "I trust you, Lady Bella… and I'm sure your choice of this boy wasn't a coincidence."
Lucien raised a brow at Bella.
— "Wait — you are talking about me?"
Bella, casually:
— "Of course. You look like a mischievous but respectful boy… and that's a magical combination for them."
Lucien:
— "And you…? What will you be? The strict director?"
Bella, with calm charm:
— "Me… I'm the final boss."
Laurette opened the door to a large colorful playroom — round tables, children everywhere — moving, shouting, drawing, laughing. But the moment they saw Bella… everything froze for a heartbeat.
A little girl screamed:
— "Madaaaaame Bellaaaaa!"
She rushed toward her, followed by a swarm of children — gathering around her like flowers around the sun.
Bella knelt gently to hug the girl.
— "So — who stole the chocolate cake yesterday? Be honest, Emily."
Emily laughed.
— "It wasn't me! It was Jasmine!"
Bella:
— "Then we must investigate… perhaps we'll need the United Nations for this."
The children burst into loud laughter. Lucien stood in the back, quietly mesmerized.
Lucien (an inner whisper):
How can a woman who runs an empire be… this warm?
A small boy walked up to him and tugged at his trousers.
Boy:
— "You're tall."
Lucien (kneeling, smiling):
— "And you… are very observant."
The boy stared at him, then said boldly:
— "I like your shoes. Same brand as mine — except mine are used."
Lucien offered a fist bump.
— "Used means it's lived more adventures."
The boy laughed, bumped fists with him, and ran off.
Bella glanced at Lucien — silently watching his interaction. When he turned to her — she was smiling.
Bella stepped toward him and whispered:
— "Told you… they're merciless."
Lucien looked at the boy who ran off.
— "That child just stole my heart… and my sneakers with a single glance."
Bella laughed — then froze — eyes drifting downward, slowly.
…No shoes. Just grey socks.
One second. Two.
She looked back up.
— "…Seriously?"
A beat of ridiculous silence — then both of them exploded into laughter. Their laughter blended with the noise of the children — as if time briefly stepped back and handed them a pure, unforgettable moment.
---
Location: A small back courtyard of the orphanage "Maison Espoir."
Trees surround the place in calm quiet — a few scattered toys, distant laughter.
Bella is seated on a simple wooden bench, her hair tied up carelessly because of the heat, her jacket placed beside her. Next to her sits Lucien — barefoot — his socks folded tightly like makeshift shoes.
Lucien (watching the children play):
"Are kids always this… emotionally explosive?"
Bella (observing a little girl laughing hard enough to fall over):
"They're more transparent than we are. They don't know how to hide."
Lucien (glancing at her, curious):
"And you? Do you know how to hide?"
Bella doesn't answer right away. She reaches out and takes a biscuit from the box they brought with them.
Bella (quietly):
"I built my empire on the principle that no one should ever see me when I bleed."
Lucien (whispering with sincere childlike seriousness):
"But… you can't build a world of glass and pretend it's made of steel."
Bella turns to him as she chews the biscuit — staring…
That rare look — the one she gives only when she forgets she's the strongest, richest, sharpest in the room — and is simply… Bella.
Bella (softly, with a trace of amused warning):
"You're dangerous, Lucien."
Lucien (raises his brows):
"Because I said something deep?"
Bella:
"Because you said something honest."
Silence settles between them — just for a moment — until a small child runs toward them, reaching a hand out to Bella.
Child:
"Are you a princess?"
Bella (smiles, leans forward, whispers):
"Only on Sunday."
Child (sadly):
"Today is Wednesday."
Bella:
"Then today… I'm just someone who loves you."
The child laughs and suddenly hugs her. She freezes for a second — then gently returns the hug.
Lucien watches, a calm smile on his face…
•••
Location: A quiet suburban street on the outskirts of Paris.
Time: Nearly 10 PM.
Event: Bella and Lucien returning from the orphanage "Maison des Cœurs" in a black SUV.
The road is almost empty. Streetlights cast a warm golden glow on the glossy car windows. Inside, the soft blue light of the dashboard fills the interior with gentle calm.
Bella sits in the front seat, her grey blazer back on, half her face hidden behind a mask — relaxed despite exhaustion, her expression carrying a rare tranquility.
Beside her, Lucien leans slightly toward the window — his hair a little messy — holding a box of biscuits given to him by one of the children.
Lucien (laughing as he looks at his shoe):
"I still can't believe I chased a kid around a tiny garden for ten minutes… for this poor shoe."
Bella (a faint smile under the mask):
"That shoe is from my brand. I was going to charge him the official price."
Lucien (tilting his head playfully):
"For a kid wearing a Spider-Man shirt… I think he understood its value better than I did."
They both laugh — not from humor, but from the kind of warmth left behind by a good day.
The car continues through the quiet Parisian suburb. Suddenly, Bella slows down.
Through the front windshield — a woman in her early forties walks along the sidewalk carrying two heavy grocery bags. Behind her — the shadow of a man following in silence.
Bella (calmly, eyes sharp):
"Do you see that?"
Lucien (looking forward, alert):
"That guy behind her… doesn't look like a friendly tourist."
Bella slows even more, approaching quietly — then lowers the window slightly.
Her voice comes out soft — but cautious.
Bella:
"Good evening, madam. Would you like some help? You seem to be carrying a lot."
The woman stops — tense. She glances behind her as the man draws closer — then looks back at Bella. Hesitation flickers in her eyes — but all she sees is a masked couple in a quiet luxury car… with sincere eyes.
Woman (uncertain):
"I… I don't know…"
Bella studies the situation sharply — then presses a button to unlock the back door — without taking her eyes off the man.
Bella (firm, calm):
"Get in. Quickly, please."
Lucien steps out from the other side — moving carefully — leaving his door open as he walks toward the woman with a reassuring smile behind his mask.
Lucien:
"Allow me — I'll carry the bags. It's cold, and it's better not to be alone right now."
He meets Bella's eyes briefly — a silent confirmation of caution.
The woman hesitates for a few seconds — then glances once more at the empty road behind her — choosing between fear and trust.
She breathes in slowly — and hands Lucien the bags.
He places them in the back seat while Bella keeps the engine running — her eyes following the man in the side mirror.
As he gets closer — he walks past the SUV — stops for a second — stares — then keeps moving… disappearing around the corner.
The woman quickly slips into the passenger seat next to Bella.
Lucien closes the door and takes the back seat.
Woman (voice slightly trembling):
"Thank you… I wasn't sure if he meant harm or not, but… thank you for stopping."
Bella (driving again, voice soft but firm):
"The world isn't always fair… but sometimes — all it takes is someone stopping in time."
Lucien (from the backseat, smiling gently):
"Especially someone professionally trained in chasing stolen shoes."
The woman laughs faintly.
A warm silence fills the car.
Beneath the quiet streetlights — the black SUV glides slowly deeper into the road —
and the night returns to peace —
this time — a little safer.
---
The black car rolled to a stop in front of a small house, its windows glowing with warm yellow light. Beside it, an old almond tree swayed gently in the night breeze.
The woman stepped out slowly, holding her grocery bags, then turned back toward Bella and Lucien, who remained seated inside.
Woman (hesitant, soft voice):
"Thank you… truly. But—just one small question before you go…"
She squinted, trying to see past their masks.
Woman:
"Who… are you, exactly?"
Bella glanced at Lucien — a shared pause. A silent question: Do we say it?
Lucien exhaled lightly. Bella removed her mask first. The streetlight revealed her unmistakable features — elegance, instantly recognizable from magazines and billboards.
The woman's eyes widened.
Woman (in hushed shock):
"You… no — you're Bella LeClair?!"
Bella chuckled softly, setting the mask aside.
"I was hoping I'd look more humble with it on."
The woman covered her mouth in disbelief — then looked to Lucien, who quietly removed his mask as well.
She studied him for a moment — then her eyes lit up.
Woman:
"And you — you're the winner of the youth fashion competition! I saw you on the news last week!"
Lucien (slightly embarrassed):
"That would be me… though I didn't expect to get recognized like this."
The woman laughed — all tension gone.
Still holding her bags, she stepped toward them with gentle shyness.
Woman:
"Now I definitely can't just let you leave… Please — at least come in for one cup of tea. It's the very least I can offer."
Bella looked to Lucien, raising a brow — letting him decide.
Lucien (lightly teasing):
"If the tea comes with children's biscuits… I'm incapable of refusing."
Woman (laughing for the first time tonight):
"Émie might still be awake… and yes — we do have biscuits."
The front door creaked softly as she opened it — old wood blending with their small laughter — and the three stepped into the warmth of the golden light inside.
---
Interior — modest home, ground floor.
Simple furniture — clean, carefully arranged. Old family photos on the wall. Pale brown curtains touching the floor.
The woman entered first, flicking on a small lamp by the entrance.
Woman (bashful):
"Please— come in. Don't mind the mess, I wasn't expecting guests tonight."
Bella removed her coat, looking around with a gentle smile.
Bella:
"It's beautiful. Feels like a real home… the kind we rarely see in the city."
The woman glanced back, shyly smiling.
Woman:
"Our homes aren't perfect… but at least they're honest."
Just then, a small door down the hallway opened.
A little girl peeked out — messy hair, half-asleep eyes.
Girl (sleepy murmuring):
"Mom? Who's here?"
The woman immediately bent down with a smile.
Woman:
"Émie, sweetheart, back to bed — we just have guests."
But the girl suddenly froze — eyes fixed on Bella.
Émie (in tiny awe):
"Mom… that's Princess Cinderella."
The woman blinked — mortified — while Bella softly laughed and bent down slightly.
Bella:
"Yes. But don't tell anyone I drank tea at your house at night, deal?"
Émie (giggles, putting finger to lips):
"Secret."
A second door opened — another small child appeared, clutching his toy, half-asleep.
Woman (gently):
"Ah… here we go. Leo, back to bed, darling."
Leo (looking at Lucien):
"You're the man from my dream."
Lucien blinked.
Lucien:
"That is… the most terrifying and heartwarming sentence I've ever heard."
Soft laughter filled the room — even the tired mother smiled.
She straightened and finally introduced herself.
Woman:
"My name is Celine. These are my children — the older one, Émie, and the younger, Leo.
Their father works in another city… only comes back on weekends. So sometimes… it feels like I face the world alone."
A quiet pause. Then she looked at Bella and Lucien — eyes full of genuine gratitude.
Celine:
"But tonight… you made me feel like I'm not."
Bella (gently, watching Émie fighting sleep on her shoulder):
"The world isn't always kind, Celine.
But nights like this… remind us what kindness still looks like."
They sat together in the small living room as Celine brought out a teapot, placing it on the old wooden table. Mint-scented steam slowly rose into the air.
Lucien (half-joking, looking at the cups):
"Believe me — this feels more elegant than any café in Paris."
Celine (laughs):
"Maybe because the hearts here are warmer than the marble over there."
Bella fell quiet — eyes on her cup — then whispered:
Bella:
"True warmth… isn't something you can buy."
A peaceful silence followed — the kind that feels like a soft ending after a long storm.
Émie sat beside Bella, quietly admiring her.
Leo curled up in Lucien's lap, nibbling a biscuit.
Lucien watched the steam from his cup, smiling faintly.
The camera drifts toward the window — light rain beginning to fall — golden reflections shimmering across the glass.
Celine (softly):
"Next time you visit… I'll make lemon cake too."
Bella (smiling):
"Deal."
Their laughter echoed softly through the house as the scene faded — leaving behind gentle warmth… and the quiet, perfect end to a very long night.
---
The children are still awake — barely — their bodies heavy with sleep as they cling to their unexpected guests.
The three adults are laughing quietly at something Lucien just said, when little Léo suddenly rests his head on Lucien's shoulder, wrapping his tiny arms around him as if he were the last safe place in the world.
Émie is sitting beside Bella, sleepily examining her wedding ring as though it were a treasure. Then, in a drowsy whisper, she says:
Émie:
"Will you stay with us tonight…? You're better than Papa."
Her words fall like a stone into water — silent, but sending ripples everywhere.
Bella looks at the girl, then at Lucien, then at Celine — the mother says nothing… but lowers her head with a sad, quiet nod, as if confessing everything without a single word.
But the silence doesn't last long. Suddenly—
To be continued…
All right, everyone — I hope you enjoyed Chapter 9.
Honestly, this chapter got much longer than I expected, so I decided to split it into two parts: the first part is what you've just read, and the second part will be uploaded tomorrow or the day after.
So — did you enjoy it? I truly hope you did.
Oh, and I finally finished that exam week — two full weeks of exams, one every single day! But I'm done now, and I feel so relieved 😊
I'll continue uploading chapters as promised — thank you all for your time, and see you soon ❤️